


Hearts and Flimsi

by Meggory



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bedsharing, Broken Noses, Crechemaster Qui-Gon Jinn, Growing Up Together, Jedi Younglings - Freeform, M/M, Padawan Obi-Wan, Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn, secondary character death, timelines? What timelines?, where we're going we don't need no timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/pseuds/Meggory
Summary: "You have a gentle heart, Qui-Gon, and I fear that the galaxy would harden it beyond repair."A possibility among possibilities, where Qui-Gon Jinn grows up in the crèche alongside Obi-Wan Kenobi and discovers the path the Force has laid out for him might not include diplomatic negotiations and lightsabers the way everyone thinks it should.





	Hearts and Flimsi

**Author's Note:**

> Happy QuiObi Week 2018! Thanks to the overwhelmingly positive encouragement at the idea of Crèchemaster Qui-Gon as posited in my previous fic, Constellations Reveal Themselves One Star at a Time, this fic happened.
> 
> This is just a smooshing of timelines together. Go with it.
> 
> Please note there is a trigger warning for the discovery of a dead body. It's not gory, but it's there. Keep yourself safe if need be.

There was a disturbance in the Force, and it woke him in the middle of the night.

Qui-Gon Jinn of Clawmouse Clan wriggled out from his blankets and let his feet guide him, but it didn't take very long to hear the soft, muffled crying coming from the last bed on the right.

The new youngling. Master Rynal had told him about a fresh arrival, since he was six and the most responsible one in the dormitory, even if he wasn't the tallest. Qui-Gon approached the huddled form and knelt, resting his elbows on the bed. "Hi," he whispered, mindful to not disturb his sleeping friends.

A tiny, pale face peeked out of the soft, brown blanket. Qui-Gon couldn't tell what colour his hair was in the dim illumination of the nightlights, but the boy had a spate of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. Sniffling, the boy said, "Sorry."

Qui-Gon shrugged. "It's okay. I was up anyway," he lied. He knew he shouldn't lie, that Master Yoda always held honesty as a virtue of a Jedi, but Qui-Gon also knew that making people feel bad wasn't very helpful. "I'm Qui-Gon."

"Ben," replied the boy, but then he scrunched his face and shook his head. "No, not anymore. Obi-Wan."

Even in the faint light, the poor boy looked miserable. "Do you want me to call you Ben anyway? Maybe just for a while, until you get used to things?"

Relief bloomed over Ben's face as he nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Five and a half.”

Qui-Gon grinned. "Can't sleep, huh, Ben?"

"No," whispered Ben, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously.

"You're safe here," Qui-Gon assured him.

"I know that," replied Ben. "It's just…cold."

"Cold?"

Ben nodded again. "I usually sleep with my sisters. I get to be in the middle so they don't kick each other."

There was no way Qui-Gon could _reach_ the temperature controls, let alone input the correct access code to change it. Master Rynal kept telling him one day he'd be tall, but he wasn't so sure. It was taking a long time. He tugged on his earlobe. "Do you want to come sleep in my bed? I promise I don't kick."

Ben bit his lip, looking suddenly shy for a moment, before he offered Qui-Gon a little smile. "Okay."

Qui-Gon waited patiently for Ben to gather up his blanket and pillow, then led the boy back to Qui-Gon's own bunk. Had they been any bigger, it would have been a tight fit. Qui-Gon snugged up against the wall, graciously giving Ben as much room to wiggle and settle as he needed. Finally, the other boy stopped fidgeting and yawned. "Thanks, Qui," Ben mumbled.

Qui-Gon smiled in the dark. He'd never had a nickname before.

When Master Rynal came in to wake everyone, she ducked her head to whisper good morning to Qui-Gon and stopped upon seeing an extra head. She blinked her large yellow eyes once. Qui-Gon raised his finger to his lips. "He didn't sleep well," he mouthed to the Lasat.

"Then stay," she whispered with a smile.

 

****

 

There were Masters coming to the crèche. Excitement bubbled out of everyone, despite their best attempts to remain poised and calm, and it made Qui-Gon feel jangly. Ben, of course, noticed, and dipped his head close over their firstmeal so the other younglings at their round table didn't overhear. "You're freaking me out."

Qui-Gon grimaced and flicked his fingers at the room. " _They're_ freaking me out," he bit out. "It feels like I've got ants crawling under my skin."

Ben wrinkled his nose. "Gross."

Qui-Gon fought the urge to scratch at his arms and lost. His nails scraped over his skin, just at the edge of his tunic, offering a different sensation to distract his brain. He scratched until Ben's hand clasped his wrist. Hard.

For a scrawny eight year old, Obi-Wan Kenobi was surprisingly strong.

"Stop that."

"It helps." Well, it didn't make it worse.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," Ben admonished with a frown.

"And no Master's gonna choose me, right?" Sarcasm was a newly discovered tool, used liberally by both boys at every chance.

Ben rolled his wide grey eyes. "You're nine. No one's even looking in your direction. Not when Draigon Clan is almost all twelve."

"Thanks, that makes me feel better," drawled Qui-Gon, pulling his hand out of his best friend's grip. "Now I can be worried and freak out at the same time."

"Come on." Ben stood, and when Qui-Gon didn't immediately follow, the slight boy hauled his friend up by the elbow. "Come _on,_ before Master Rynal sees us."

Qui-Gon let himself be led out of the little refectory and through the crèche. He knew better than to ask Ben where they were going; Ben always knew where Qui-Gon needed to be. This time, however, Ben dragged him down a familiar corridor and stopped at door they were not supposed to use.

Qui-Gon glanced around nervously. "We're gonna get in trouble."

"No, I'm gonna be the one to get in trouble this time, and you're gonna calm down," retorted Ben. He peered at the door controls, then stood on his tiptoes to get a better look. "Simple algorithm. Meant to keep the little ones out."

Before Qui-Gon could protest, Ben's fingers—too long for his hands, which had been making lightsaber practice difficult lately—tapped against the controls. Ben chewed his lip as he worked, then broke into a wide smile when the door slid open to reveal the crèche gardens.

It was nowhere near as big or as exciting as the Room of a Thousand Fountains, which Clawmouse Clan got to visit on Primedays after midmeal for swimming in the pool, but the crèche gardens were Qui-Gon's favourite place. The air hummed here, whispering of living things and brushing against him in ways that reminded him of everything he liked: hugs and warm milk, his bed and the Temple Map Room, tumbling class and helping in the infant room, Master Rynal and Ben. He always liked to sit and be still in the gardens, the same way they were learning in meditation class. It was easy to close his eyes and concentrate here, even when Ben was wiggling next to him. Master Rynal said that Qui-Gon was strongly connected to the Living Force—usually followed by an admonition to stop bringing kittens or baby snakes or butterflies into the dormitory.

It wasn't his fault; it would be un-Jedi-like to just _leave_ them to be cold and hungry.

The boys followed the well-raked path—a despised chore for Ben and a pleasant escape from kitchen duty for Qui-Gon—until they reached the hollow tree that they considered _theirs_. Ben swept his hands towards the opening. "After you," he said, using his most gallant Knight voice. He had been practicing his Coruscanti pronunciation.

Qui-Gon ducked into the dark crevice and sat with his back against the smooth bark. If he was going to calm down, he might as well do it properly, so he tugged off his boots and twisted his feet up into a full lotus. He let the currents of the gardens pull him in. Here, the Force wrapped around him like a blanket, as if pleased to have him. Safe from the intense emotions of the other younglings, Qui-Gon relaxed. The unnerving prickling under his skin, on the back of his neck, in his throat, ebbed.

A bright, shining spark caught his attention, as if in the corner of his eye. That spark called to him, promising to be warmer than the sun and deeper than an ocean. It beat alongside his own heart. Qui-Gon turned his head towards that spark, curious, and cracked open one eye.

Ben sat, mirroring the lotus, with his eyes closed and a tiny smile on his face. That smile stayed, even after Master Rynal found them, even while Ben took all the blame for breaking the door lock and not telling anyone where they were going, and even as the two of them raked the path from latemeal until lights out.

 

****

 

Qui-Gon sat on the edge of his bed and watched Ben struggle with his sash in front of the mirror. "I can help—"

"No," retorted Ben irritably as he fumbled with a handful of fabric. "I'll do it myself."

"Or I could help you and it will be done." Qui-Gon did his best to swallow a sigh. The way Ben was fussing, you would think it was his thirteenth birthday next week, not Qui-Gon's.

"No one will take an Initiate who can't even do up his uniform by himself," Ben snapped, glaring at the offending sash. "Why is this so hard today?!"

"Because you're focusing on your anxiety," replied Qui-Gon, to which Ben stuck out his tongue.

"Easy for you to say, Qui. Everyone knows Master Rynal's gonna choose you."

Qui-Gon didn't even have an argument; Ben was right. Master Rynal had brought Qui-Gon to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, just the two of them, and together they sat beneath Qui-Gon's favourite tree—a tall neka nut, which was perfect for climbing and had a little spot near the top that was excellent for meditating or even taking a little nap—and she had asked him what he wanted to do to serve the Order.

_"If no one chooses me, Master, then I think I'd like to go to the Agricorps and work with plants, and maybe animals, too," said Qui-Gon thoughtfully. He'd seen a picture of a giant transparisteel greenhouse on Bandomeer, filled with flowers and vegetables and trees. It seemed like a nice place if he couldn't live close to the Room of a Thousand Fountains anymore._

_"You're very good with the babies, Qui-Gon," said Master Rynal._

_He smiled. "I like them. When they're happy, it's like they tickle in the Force."_

_"And would you ever consider becoming a crèchemaster?" Her yellow eyes watched him without blinking; she had told him once that Lasat didn't blink as much as humans, and that was why she always caught them when they broke the rules._

_"Master Dooku says I should focus on my diplomatic skills," replied Qui-Gon, a little proud that the famous Master had pulled him aside after a guest lecture and inquired as to his birthday. "There aren't enough Jedi Knights to go around."_

_Rynal's purple fur rippled, but her voice was even. Qui-Gon sensed she was choosing her words carefully. "You have a gentle heart, Qui-Gon, and I fear that the galaxy would harden it beyond repair," she said softly._

_"You're never afraid," scoffed Qui-Gon._

_Turning her smile upon him, Master Rynal patted his hand. "If only that were true, my sweet. I am afraid, however, that I will not get the expected answer for my next question."_

_"I will endeavour to answer correctly, Master," replied Qui-Gon seriously, but Master Rynal shook her head._

_"No, Qui-Gon, you must answer what you feel or what the Force tells you, not what you think I want to hear." Her smile became a little sad. "Let that be either my last or first lesson to you."_

_Qui-Gon frowned. "You're worrying me, Master Rynal."_

_"Would you do me the honour of becoming my Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn?"_

_Stunned, every imagined choosing where he was dignified and composed with the weight of this great honour flew out of his brain. He sprang forward, legs still tangled from sitting, and fell into Master Rynal's furred embrace. Her arms tightened around him, and the familiar scent of her—her peculiar, grassy soap, crafting flimsi and glue, and the underlying musk of her fur—filled his nose so powerfully that he squeezed back tears. "Yes, Master!" he cried, words muffled through thick fur and a single layer of linen tabards._

Master Rynal had told him they would go in front of the Council the day of his birthday, to show the other younglings that there was always hope of being chosen.

He hadn't told Ben yet. He had desperately wanted to, but the growing anxiety in his friend over the whole question of becoming someone's apprentice led Qui-Gon to wonder if he should just keep his mouth shut for the moment. Ben needed reassurance, and if he knew Qui-Gon was speaking from a place of secured apprenticeship—well, Ben had a temper sometimes, and Qui-Gon didn't want to be on his bad side.

"Ben, you won't impress anyone by being late," admonished Qui-Gon, sliding off the edge of the bed. He grabbed the sash out of the younger boy's hands and wrapped it around Ben's waist, ignoring the protests. "I know you can dress yourself. Stop being a stubborn bantha and let me help for once. There."

With the sash perfectly wound and tied, Ben sighed at his reflection. "Thanks," he whispered.

Qui-Gon slid his arm around his best friend's shoulders. "You're welcome. Now come on, let's find you a Master!"

 

****

 

Other Padawans might have bristled at the idea of never moving out of the crèche after being chosen, but Qui-Gon was happy to stay in the senior Initiate dorm. It meant that he could still spread his datapads over the communal desk while Ben practiced his language elective—why his friend had chosen Huttese, Qui-Gon would never understand, but he had picked up some good swear words—and his growing collection of plants still decorated the floor in front of the window.

"Qui?" The wistful, worried tone in his friend's voice forced Qui-Gon to glance up from his developmental psychology textbook. Ben stood at the window, staring out at the unending lines of Coruscant traffic. The setting sun caught in his red hair, making it glow like fire.

"What?"

"Something's wrong." Two words, small and terrified, followed by a too-late warning in the Force as Ben crumpled to the floor.

Qui-Gon knocked over his chair in his haste, skidding on the carpet in his socked feet and kneeling over the other boy. All the muscles in Ben's body seemed tight; the cords of his neck strained against his skin and his fingers curled into the grey fabric of his Initiate uniform. Only the whites of his eyes were visible. "Ben? Ben, can you hear me?" The few sessions of first aid training he'd done with the Healers evaporated, and rising panic took over. He pressed his fingertips against Ben's temple.

It was like an electric shock. Qui-Gon hissed, pulling back his hand and checking to see if it really was burnt or not.

And then Ben started to scream like someone was stabbing him in the heart.

He couldn't leave Ben, but he needed help. He needed to take a deep breath and concentrate.

That little knot in his mind, soft and warm and safe, was there, just as it had been the day he earned his braid. They weren't terribly good at mental communication—Master had told him that Lasats weren't particularly skilled in that area, no matter how hard she tried—but he gathered all his strength in the Force and _squeezed_.

He felt an answering spike of alarm in the Force, and he knew she was coming. Qui-Gon grabbed Ben's hand, wanting to comfort his friend as much as himself. "Ben, I'm here, it's gonna be okay—"

Ben howled and grabbed fistfuls of Qui-Gon's tunics, his eyes still unseeing, then in the space of another breath, slumped to the floor. Ben's eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus on Qui-Gon's face. "You're alive," he breathed, so softly that Qui-Gon almost missed it.

"Of course I'm alive," replied Qui-Gon as Master Rynal burst through the door.

"Qui-Gon?" she cried, her yellow eyes searching him for injury before zeroing in on Ben. "Oh, Obi-Wan, what's happened?"

"I don't know," replied the boy, sounding more scared than Qui-Gon had ever heard before. "I-I saw things…"

Master Rynal sighed heavily, stooped, and picked Ben up into her arms with one easy motion. "It's alright, little one. We'll go to the Healers together and sort this out."

Ben, despite his fear, made a face. "I'm twelve. I'm not little."

Master Rynal chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that reminded Qui-Gon of a huge cat purring. "Everyone who's ever been in my crèche is little to me. Even Master Windu's just a wee boy to me."

Ben didn't laugh.

"Qui-Gon," Master Rynal said, not taking her concerned gaze from the boy in her arms, "go let the other crèchemasters know what's happened—"

"But—"

She pinned him with a terse look. "We have a duty of care first, Qui-Gon, always. Fulfill that duty, ensure that no one needs an extra pair of hands for the rest of the evening, and only then may you come check on Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to argue, his eyes fixed on the pale, unsteady face of his best friend, but her words settled into his bones. A crèchemaster could not abandon their post for selfish reasons; the other Initiates would worry when Ben didn't show up for latemeal, and Qui-Gon didn't want rumours to form. "Yes, Master," he said.

The Halls of Healing were Qui-Gon's least favourite place in the Temple. The sickly sweet scent of bacta coated the back of his tongue, and there was an underlying prickling feeling in the Force that he had figured out was the residual imprint of pain and suffering. Master Rynal had once called it the heebie-jeebies. There was a thread of misery, sharp and tinged with familiarity, that led him to sneak past the senior Padawan staffing the desk and into the first medbay.

The illumination was at its lowest level, just enough to outline Ben's figure huddled under a blanket. Just when Qui-Gon thought he might be asleep,  Ben poked his head out from the edge of his blanket but could not manage a smile. "Hi," whispered Qui-Gon. When Ben did not answer, Qui-Gon sidled up to the bed on silent feet and peered closely at his friend. "What happened?"

"They said I had a vision," Ben mumbled, miserable and shivering. "From the Force."

Qui-Gon bit back his gasp. "What-what did it show you?"

Shaking his head, Ben squeezed his eyes shut. A single tear escaped his lashes and rolled down his freckled cheek. "I don't want to remember."

"I brought you dessert," Qui-Gon said, pulling a folded napkin out of his pocket and placing it on the pillow next to Ben's head. He lifted the corner of the napkin to reveal two shortbread biscuits with halved neka nuts and chocolate drizzle. "Your favourite."

A tiny spark of interest flickered in Ben's grey eyes, and the boy slowly pushed himself up to sit, hunched and small, on the medical bed. He nibbled the first biscuit, then pushed the second one towards Qui-Gon. "Here."

"I brought them for you."

"And I can share my dessert if I want to," said Ben stubbornly.

They ate the biscuits in silence, and once the crumbs were brushed off fingers, Ben lay back down. "I guess I'll see you when I get out of here?" he said, and Qui-Gon could hear the underlying disappointment in his words. Ben was really good at 'sabers and studying, but he had a hard time keeping his emotions to himself.

"Are you cold?" Qui-Gon asked him softly.

"No," Ben lied.

"Shove over," ordered Qui-Gon, and was surprised when Ben didn't argue. The medical bed was designed for adults, so there was enough room for both of them to spread out a little, but Qui-Gon stretched out his arm and let Ben use it as a pillow. "I'll guard your dreams."

Ben relaxed, and Qui-Gon fell asleep to the sound of his friend's gentle snoring.

 

****

 

The closer Ben's birthday loomed, the more difficult it was to ignore his agitation. Ben refused to discuss the matter, snapping at Qui-Gon during the day and crying silently into his pillow at night.

Unable to calm his friend or ease the tension in their shared room, Qui-Gon turned to his Master for help. "Where are they sending unchosen Initiates this quarter?" he asked her over tea, and she levelled a sharp look at him over the rim of her cup.

"Why do you ask?"

"Obi-Wan. He turns thirteen next week and no one's even feigned interest." Qui-Gon hesitated over divulging his friend's emotional state, but help was required. "He's extremely perturbed, Master."

"Perturbed?"

"Losing it," clarified Qui-Gon. "He saw two of the younger Initiates picking on another, and he nearly started a fist fight on the spot."

"And you told no one?"

Qui-Gon frowned at the implication that he hadn't done his duty. "I handled it, quietly and discreetly, for the sake of all involved. I did tell Master Yulia about the bullying, though, since it was members of her clan."

Master Rynal nodded and gave him a little smile. "Very well."

"I'm worried about Obi-Wan. He's destined to be a Jedi Knight. I feel it, but if no Master claims him…"

Fur rippling in the way that meant she was close to anger, the Lasat set her teacup down a little forcefully. "It is entirely unfair that the Jedi Order sends its children to the Corps without even asking if they want to go," she rumbled. "We take them from their families, we raise them, train them to our ways, and cut them loose upon some ridiculous, arbitrary date just when they need guidance the most."

"It's cruel," Qui-Gon agreed, sipping his tea as cogs turned in his mind.

She stabbed a clawed finger in his direction. "Don't ever stop thinking that, my Qui-Gon. It _is_ cruel, and Jedi are never to be cruel."

"Master," he said slowly, "diplomacy and persuasion is an important skill for a crèchemaster, right?"

"You haven't spent enough time with me and the two year olds at latemeal, clearly," she replied with a wry smile, "but yes, of course."

"Then will you assign me a special project in those subjects, to be presented to the High Council?"

For a long moment, she surveyed him openly, tapping her finger against the long tuft of hair on her chin. "The responsible Jedi in me is telling me this is a bad idea," she said slowly, and he bit his tongue to keep the disappointment from his face. "But the Lasat in me says go for it, and whatever it is you're going to tell them, make it good."

He replied with a slow, predatory grin that would make any Lasat proud.

 

Qui-Gon Jinn had only been in the High Council chambers once, to formalize his apprenticeship with Master Rynal in a very brief, perfunctory ceremony. This time, the Councilors seemed distracted as he walked into the round chamber and stood on the tiled insignia of the Order to bow deeply.

"Address the Council, you would, Padawan Jinn?" Yoda asked, gravelly voice sounding amused. "A brief lull in proceedings, you have caught us in."

"Thank you, Master Yoda," replied Qui-Gon, lifting his chin and puffing his chest out the way Master Rynal showed him. _Stand up straight, speak clearly, don't stare at Master Poof's head or he'll hypnotize you._ She waited next to the door, watching silently and taking no attention away from him. Inhaling deeply, Qui-Gon folded his hands into the sleeves of his cloak to hide his trembling fingers. "I wish to address the Council on the important matter of the thirteenth birthday cut off for Initiates."

A few Councilors shifted, and at least two looked bored.

What was that Hutt curse Ben had taught him?

"I speak as one who has been chosen for those of my peers who have no voice in this matter. It is unacceptable that we Jedi, who claim compassion in all things, would send our younglings away because no Master has made them an apprentice."

Yarael Poof frowned in the way that suggested he was about to run over Qui-Gon like a speeder. "This is a tradition—"

"My apologies, Master Poof, but I have not finished." The sudden silence was deafening, and Qui-Gon fought to keep himself from shifting his weight under the scrutiny of the entire Jedi Council. That little knot in his head that was Master Rynal, warm and fuzzy and safe, pulsed with encouragement. "At any given time, there are, on average, 1.09 percent of the entire population of Masters and Senior Knights in residence here in the Temple. The rest are on missions, on sabbaticals, in transit, or otherwise assigned to duties that keep them away from Coruscant. Of that 1.09 percent, already three-quarters of them have Padawans and tend to be in Temple due to their apprentice's training schedule. Temple averages 81 Jedi eligible to take an apprentice."

Qui-Gon pulled out his holoprojector and thumbed it on, and his statistical analysis appeared in the air next to him. "I've checked with the quartermaster, and on average, Jedi stopping at the Temple stay for 23.8 hours before setting out again. I've calculated this based on occupation rates of transient quarters, in case you're wondering. Every month, the crèche sees a minimum of 35 Initiates turn thirteen, and every month in the past five years, we have sent at least one Initiate per month to one of the Corps who did not choose to go before their birthday."

Yoda's ears pinned back against his head. "What conclusion, you have come to?"

Qui-Gon set his mouth in a stubborn line. "There is inadequate time for eligible Jedi to interact with potential Padawans before the birthday cutoff," he announced grimly. "We are sending younglings out of the Temple without ever having given them a real chance to meet possible Masters. I realize that there are some younglings who wish to join the Corps, but there are also those who do not, and we are robbing them of their choice."

"What would you have us do, Padawan Jinn?" asked Master T'ra Saa, her voice soft like rustling leaves.

"Rescind the birthday cutoff. Let Initiates stay in Temple, and remind eligible Knights and Masters that they once needed to be chosen, and that our Order does not magically replenish itself without their participation in the matter," replied Qui-Gon, hoping he sounded as steely as he felt. Ben _would_ be a Knight. "Remind them— _firmly._ "

"Your thoughts betray you," Mace Windu intoned. "You hold concern for another."

There was no use lying. Qui-Gon sniffed. "I do, Master Windu, for the Force tells me he will be a great Jedi Knight, but we have not seen a Master visit the crèche for over a tenday and his birthday is…impending."

"And who is this youngling, whose exceptionality spurred you to such great lengths?" Master Sifo-Dyas was looking in his direction, but Qui-Gon had the feeling that he wasn't _seeing_ him.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Dyas."

"Much to think about, you have given us, Padawan Jinn," Yoda croaked. "Leave us now."

"Will you actually think about it?" Qui-Gon couldn't help saying it, and from the back of the room, Master Rynal hissed, " _Padawan_!"

Yoda narrowed his eyes. "Obedience is another mark of a Jedi, young one."

That hint hit Qui-Gon like a blow from a training 'saber, reminding him of just exactly who he was speaking to, and where he was standing. He pocketed the holoprojector and hastily dropped into a perfect Padawan's bow. "Yes, Master Yoda. Thank you for your time. May the Force be with you."

Master Rynal marched him back to the crèche, but he was pretty sure the weird expression on her face meant she was biting back a smile.

One tenday later, Qui-Gon walked into his room, eyes glued to a datapad, and was instantly tackled to the ground by a Ben Kenobi who radiated happiness in the Force. "I don't know what you did, but I owe you _forever_ ," Ben cried, hugging Qui-Gon so hard his ribs creaked dangerously.

"Gerroff," wheezed Qui-Gon. "Ben—can't breathe—"

Ben scrambled away, not looking the least bit sorry, and Qui-Gon was able to see the newly-shorn Padawan's haircut and over-starched uniform, finally cream and tan instead of grey and white. The boy positively glowed.

Qui-Gon grinned at him. "Who?"

"Master Sifo-Dyas," replied Ben with more than a tinge of awe in his voice. "And he told me that it was because you reminded him of something important. What did you say to him?"

Shrugging, Qui-Gon pushed himself off the floor and offered Ben a hand up. "Oh, I made a presentation about the Jedi education system for one of my classes," he said dismissively. "Nothing special. Now let's go tell Master Rynal, so we'll all get celebratory dessert in your honour, _Padawan_ Kenobi!"

Ben's smile was brighter than binary stars.

 

****

 

On the morning of Qui-Gon's birthday, he sneaked out of his shared room with Ben to start the first morning rounds of the infant room. Master Rynal had gone to bed early the night before, complaining of a headache and brushing aside his concerned noises, so he took the responsibility on himself to let her sleep a little longer.

The babies were always happy to see him, but happier still was the yawning Togruta, Vokrin Haa, who had night duty for the month. "You're up," he muttered, slinking out the door and leaving Qui-Gon in the dimly lit room. Of the four babies in this room, three could pull themselves up on the bars of their cribs. He smiled at each of them in turn, greeting them with a soft voice, as he stooped over the rail of the fourth crib and scooped up the occupant.

"Still not trying to escape, then, eh Lyssus?" he asked the pudgy human baby, who stared at him with wide, dark eyes. "Why do I get the feeling that one day I'm going to walk in here and find you in the middle of the room? It's always the quiet ones."

Lyssus, in reply, grabbed Qui-Gon's braid and tried to put it in his mouth. As Qui-Gon retrieved his hair, the Force rose in him—sudden, inexplicable sorrow and a clenching in his heart he'd never felt before.

The babies began to cry in unison.

The knot in his mind, the comfortable spot where Master Rynal curled up, entwined with his own being, unravelled. Qui-Gon fell to his knees, hugging Lyssus to his chest to keep him from falling.

 _Duty of care, first and always_. It was like Rynal's rumbling voice whispered in his ear, and it was enough to force him to his feet. The weight of the baby in his arms dulled the edge of the panic rising in his throat like bile.

Vokrin dashed back into the room, now wide-eyed. He plucked Lyssus out of Qui-Gon's grasp and ducked his head to look the apprentice in the eye. "Go."

Qui-Gon dashed out of the nursery, using the Force to enhance his speed despite the practice being prohibited in the crèche, and nearly slammed into the door of Master Rynal's quarters. He didn't bother pushing the chime; he stabbed his access code into the panel—twice, because his shaking fingers slipped—and rushed inside.

The oddly unpleasant smell of deep earth, newly overturned and tinged with metal, washed over him. The tiny sitting room was empty, and Qui-Gon's feet carried him to the open door of Rynal's bedchamber.

She lay in her bed, as though asleep.

"Master?" Qui-Gon's voice broke.

He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to invade her privacy. He didn't want to touch her.

Qui-Gon Jinn was sixteen and he was a crèchemaster in training; he was a Jedi and he was brave.

He stepped over the threshold and made it to her bedside. Her fur, purple tinged with white and wondrously thick, looked just as it had the night before. The edges of her form blurred as he reached out and brushed his fingers over her cheek.

She was still warm, but there was no breath left in her. The spot in his mind was empty, and it _hurt_.

He needed to call the Healers, or Temple Security. He needed to go reassure the little ones, tell them that their hearts were hurting for a reason, that the Force had welcomed Master Rynal like an old friend and now she was everywhere.

 _I'm not that brave yet, Master._ Qui-Gon sank to his knees and buried his face in the fur of her arm, desperate to fill the gaping hole at the core of him with the smell of grassy soap, crafting flimsi and glue, and soft Lasat musk.

 

Master Yoda himself was the one who finally cajoled Qui-Gon to leave Rynal's rooms. The Healers had come and gone, bearing Rynal's sheet-covered body with the Force in silent respect; he had ignored the pitying looks of the adults as he sat on the worn couch, mutely staring at the wall.

"Check on you later, I will," Yoda promised as he herded Qui-Gon into the hallway.

"Yes, Master Yoda," murmured Qui-Gon, and let his feet carry him automatically through the deserted halls.

He turned into the corridor that housed his dorm to find Ben waiting for him. The other boy looked devastated as he took a few hesitant steps and stopped in Qui-Gon's personal space.

The hasty walls he had erected crumbled in the face of Ben's wide grey eyes. "Ben—" Qui-Gon croaked, and immediately found himself wrapped in Ben's embrace. Qui-Gon balled his fists in the back of Ben's tunic and buried his face in Ben's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Qui," Ben breathed in his ear.

"It hurts," he whispered miserably. "So much."

"Come on," urged Ben. "Let's get out of the hall."

Ben led Qui-Gon to their shared room and settled him into bed, then blocked the midday sun with a stab of his finger against the window controls. The darkness was blissful. Ben walked past Qui-Gon's bed, and Qui-Gon reached out to snag his hand. "Don't go," he begged. "Please."

"I'm just locking the door so no one bothers us," Ben explained softly, squeezing Qui-Gon's hand. "Master said that I'm indisposed today."

"Don't you have a 'saber competition today?" Qui-Gon asked, his memory fuzzy and grey.

Ben pressed the door controls and returned to settle the blanket over Qui-Gon's shoulders. "The only thing I'm worrying about today is you. Shove over."

With Ben's head resting on the pillow next to him and the warm weight of his arm around his ribs, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and let the tears stain his smooth cheeks and soak into the pillowcase.

"I'm here, Qui," Ben said, his words ghostly against Qui-Gon's forehead. "I'm always right here."

 

****

 

"You have to answer him," Ben said, resting his chin in his hands over top scattered datapads. "Master Sifo told me that the Council is getting—concerned."

"They can stay the kriff out of it," Qui-Gon snapped back, pacing in front of the window. Torrential rain pelted the transparisteel and created tiny rivers that he traced with his eyes.

A little shocked at the vehemence, if not the content of Qui-Gon's words, Ben stilled. "Qui, I-I know you're still hurting, and no one's expecting you to forget Master Rynal."

A little lump rose in his throat, and Qui-Gon swallowed it away. It was getting easier to do. "But they don't want to see a masterless apprentice."

"No, they don't." Ben rose from the desk and stood in Qui-Gon's path. The little line between his eyebrows spoke volumes. "And I don't, either. I don't want you to give up."

It would be easy, to just tell the Council that he would go to the Agricorps and no longer be a Padawan. He could grow crops and breed flowers and delve deeper into the Living Force.

Except Obi-Wan Kenobi would stay here, and Qui-Gon could not walk away from him.

"I'll tell Master Dooku that I accept his offer."

 

****

 

The mission to gather intelligence in Hutt space had gone about as well as it sounded. Dooku had managed to get them home with a mostly broken hyperdrive and a few choice negotiations with his elegant lightsaber, but the part Qui-Gon remembered most was being stuffed into a bacta tank in the Halls of Healing.

At no point had Dooku _blamed_ his sixteen year-old apprentice for getting sold into slavery, but there had been enough muttering about the lack of combat training that Qui-Gon had taken the hint. He was in for long, exhausting training, and no doubt Dooku would want him to study Makashi, which had never come naturally.

It was not something to look forward to, especially not when he lay alone in his medical bed, bored and waiting for his next round in the bacta tank. Ben was out with Sifo-Dyas on a mission, leaving Qui-Gon with datapads for company because the Healers refused to allow the entire crèche to visit. A large folded piece of stiff flimsi, bright green and covered in glitter and daubs of paint, urged him to "Get Well Soon" on behalf of the younglings. The crèchemasters had pitched in and potted him a minature Alderaanian hibisc with bright orange and yellow flowers. Dooku visited a few times a day, usually bringing Qui-Gon his homework, though once he'd brought cards when Qui-Gon admitted he didn't know how to play sabacc.

There were people here, thinking of him and supporting him, so why did he feel so desolate? The thought haunted him every time he closed his eyes and slipped into fitful sleep.

On the morning of his tenth day in the Halls of Healing, Qui-Gon furrowed his brow before he even opened his eyes. A Force presence, quiet and still, waited on the periphery of his own. Qui-Gon cracked one eyelid to find a shock of copper hair resting next to his hand. His heart leapt with excitement and relief. "Ben!" he said.

Slowly, Ben lifted his head and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He smiled. "Keep it down, or Master Che will kick me out," he whispered.

That meant it was before visiting hours—"How long have you been here?"

The smile deepened, revealing his dimples. "It's easier to sneak in when there's only the night staff at the desk," he confided. "Besides, I had to make sure you were okay after falling off a six-storey building and shattering your pelvis."

"Don't read my chart," Qui-Gon said, a little grumpily. "Besides, there were extenuating circumstances."

"Extenuating or not, Qui, you need to practice using the Force to keep yourself in one piece." The concerned furrow was back, and Ben fixed his grey eyes on him. "I'll help you, once you get out of here. I've got an education rotation starting on Primeday, so I'll be in Temple for a couple of months."

"Thanks."

Ben narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "There's something else that you're not telling me."

Qui-Gon swallowed a sigh. If he couldn't tell Ben, who could he tell? "I don't like fighting," he admitted. "This was the first time I had to really use my 'saber."

"Given the kinds of missions the Council assigns Master Dooku, it won't be the last," Ben replied.

"I-I don't want to hurt people, Ben," whispered Qui-Gon. "Diplomacy I can do, but 'sabers? I froze when it came down to the final swing, and I was pushed off a building for my weakness."

Earnestness gave way to grim denial on his friend's pale face. "You're not weak. You're kind, and compassionate, and that's everything a Jedi is supposed to be."

"But—"

"No buts. No one talks about my best friend like that, including you." Ben scrubbed his fingers over his cheek in thought. "Maybe you should study Soresu."

It was like Ben had activated a light. Soresu meant Qui-Gon would focus on defending himself and others, protecting instead of attacking. Dooku would grumble, of course—he lived to grumble—but he would accept it since it wasn't Ataru, that "showy waste of energy." Qui-Gon smiled slowly. "You're a genius."

"Tell that to Master Hylen. I failed my poetry class. Oh!" Ben rooted around the inner pocket of his tunic and revealed a pair of biscuits wrapped in a napkin. "Here. I figured you'd be sick of Hall food by now."

Qui-Gon took the shortbread biscuit and examined the neka nut and chocolate drizzle with skepticism. "These are your favourites, not mine," he said blandly. "You know I prefer chocolate doughnuts with dark matter sprinkles."

"No, you don't," replied Ben with a cheeky grin before stuffing the treat into his mouth.

 

****

 

This late at night, the Temple was eerily quiet and desolate, but the moment Qui-Gon stepped into the crèche, the warmth of all the little lives sleeping peacefully washed over him, welcoming. He trudged to his door, slipping in on weary feet and carefully lowering his pack to the floor to keep from waking Ben.

"What time is it?" murmured the other boy, slurred with sleep.

"Go back to sleep," whispered Qui-Gon.

"How was the mission?" Ben asked, his eyes glinting owlishly in the dim light of the window.

Qui-Gon grunted, wrenching off his boots. "The Duke tried to foist his daughter on me."

A snort answered him. "Did you at least get a kiss out of it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Ben laughed into his pillow. "Now I have to know."

"A gentleman never tells," replied Qui-Gon, happy that the dark concealed the blush rising on his cheeks. He was seventeen; he shouldn’t be blushing. The Duke's daughter had been distraught when he told her that no, he didn't want to kiss her back, and he didn't want Ben teasing him about the whole messy affair. The sudden sound of crying caught his ear, and he pushed himself off the edge of his bed, grateful for the interruption in this increasingly embarrassing conversation. "Go back to sleep, Ben."

The crying was coming from Draigon Clan's dorm, and Qui-Gon frowned that there seemed to be no adult on duty coming to soothe the upset. He poked his head in the door. In the bed nearest him, a tiny bundle of fur quivered and sobbed while the other younglings, used to communal living, slept through the sound. The Force crooned with the youngling's loneliness, nudging Qui-Gon to ease it.

He didn't need the Force to tell him that.

Qui-Gon perched on the bed and leaned over to whisper, "Little one, why are you crying?"

At the sound of his voice, two yellow eyes, wide and beady, blinked up at him. Qui-Gon had to tamp down his shock and sudden heartache in favour of a gentle smile. "Is it your first night here?" he asked the Lasat.

She nodded, chin quivering.

"I'm Qui-Gon," he said. "I live here, too. Would you like to come and see the garden with me? That way we can talk without waking the others."

The little Lasat paused, then nodded, holding out her long arms to be carried. Qui-Gon scooped her up, balancing her easily on his hip, and talked to her all the way to the garden. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you arrived. I just got back tonight. What's your name?"

"Varralioz," she answered, and when he repeated it with a perfect roll on the "r," her lips twitched in a tiny smile. "Everyone here says it wrong."

Qui-Gon hitched her a little higher and punched in his access code to the crèche garden. "That's because no one else had a Lasat Master," he told her. "She had me practicing from the time I started talking."

"Where's a Lasat?" demanded Varralioz.

He held his sadness behind his mental shields, not wanting the feelings to bleed out where she could detect them. "Master Rynal was the only Lasat in the entire Order," he said, "but now we have you, little one, and I am so happy you're here with us."

She frowned, reaching up to trace the lines on his forehead with one bluntly clawed finger. "Don't be sad. She's _Ashla_ now."

Tears pricked at his eyes, but he smiled at Varralioz. "Yes, she is." He pointed to the neka nut tree. "I'll tell you what. I'll show you the best climbing tree in this whole garden so that tomorrow, you have something to look forward to, and then we'll go back to bed before someone sends out a search party."

She giggled at that and nodded against his chest. In a low, rumbling voice, he kept a running commentary on the trees in the garden and walked with a sway until his Lasat cargo yawned and drowsed beneath his jaw. He returned her to the dorm, biting back a choice, cutting word when he passed the senior Padawan on duty who looked like she was about to chew him out for absconding with a youngling. He tucked Varralioz into her bed, smoothed a hand over her head and wondered what shade of purple she would be in the sunlight.

When he straightened, he found Ben leaning in the doorway, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Together, the boys silently returned to their room. As Qui-Gon drifted to sleep, he remembered Ben's first night in the crèche. His last thought was that it was cold, sleeping alone.

 

****

 

Qui-Gon's nineteenth year was a blur of diplomatic missions after Dooku officially commended his impromptu filibuster in the Darloni parliament to allow Dooku the time to foil the assassination of the Prime Minister. With Ben gallivanting around Mandalore with Master Sifo-Dyas on a bodyguard mission that stretched from three months to possibly neverending, Qui-Gon found himself not bothering to make the trek to his own bed more and more often. He would collapse on the narrow bed in Dooku's Padawan room, or sometimes the couch—which Dooku always tsked about the next morning—because they never seemed to have more than twelve hours between reporting to the Council and being assigned a new mission.

It wasn't until Qui-Gon started an interminable, intolerable growth spurt that Dooku put his foot down to the Council and kept them in-Temple. Limbs aching and constantly feeding the empty hole that replaced his stomach, Qui-Gon finished his academics and built two new lightsaber casings—Dooku shook his head with a hint of sympathy and told him to wait six months before crafting a third. He was bored, lonely, and unable to complete a kata without tripping over his feet.

"Stop whining and find something to do," Dooku said drily, not looking up from his book.

Dooku found him sitting on the floor at a low table, cutting stars from rainbow flimsi for the three year olds of Clawmouse Clan to celebrate Republic Day. "Something _useful_ , Padawan," Dooku sighed.

So Qui-Gon joined the debating club. Dooku couldn't argue, as it directly supported skills necessary for an up and coming diplomat, and Qui-Gon found spending time with the other apprentices almost soothed the lonely ache in his heart. A few days before Ben's mission had a birthday, Qui-Gon stood at the podium, ignoring the datapad that held his notes and making a case against the Ruusan Reformation. Some of the audience looked positively scandalized by his argument, which he took as a positive sign that he'd come up with some creative points for his thought-exercise.

Something tickled the back of his mind as he cast his eyes over the audience. A young, extremely handsome Knight with a curly, scruffy beard smiled widely at him in the front row. Qui-Gon frowned, wary of the possibility of a practical joke meant to sabotage his run at the Senior Padawan Debating Award. Seated at a table next to the podium, Quinlan Vos and Depa Billaba waited their turns, bored and patient, respectively. If Quin was up to something, Qui-Gon would be able to tell, and Depa never put a toe out of line in public. He took a sip of water to cover his confusion.

The bearded Knight wiggled his fingers at him, grinning.

Qui-Gon choked on his water and bent double, coughing. He waved away Depa, who was half-way out of her seat with a moue of concern. When he was able to speak again, Qui-Gon apologized to the audience and fixed an incredulous glare on Obi-Wan Kenobi, who did not have the good grace to look apologetic.

Despite nearly choking in front of an audience, Qui-Gon earned the top prize and accepted it from Master Yoda with as much patience as he could muster. Dooku clapped him on the back, for once looking proud of his apprentice, and Qui-Gon suffered the gesture for exactly four seconds before mentioning a celebratory gathering of Padawans.

"Of course, enjoy yourself, Qui-Gon. Do not forget that you are a Senior Padawan."

Qui-Gon did not roll his eyes. "Yes, Master. Thank you." As Dooku left, Quinlan brushed past Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon snagged his sleeve. "We need a party, Quin."

The Kiffar's yellow stripe shifted as he grinned. "Yeah, we do. On it. Usual spot."

As the room cleared, an impatient Qui-Gon Jinn tried not to bounce on his toes as Ben greeted friends he hadn't seen in almost a year. The last lingering group of Masters left the room, leaving the two Padawans to face each other, a few feet apart.

Ben's grin was nearly hidden behind his unruly beard. "Hi."

"What is that?" Qui-Gon blurted out, scrubbing his palms over his own bare cheeks. "You look like a bantha!"

"I lost my razor about a month in," laughed Ben. "There weren't many places to buy a replacement while we were on the run. Besides, what is this?" He lifted his hand above his head, marking Qui-Gon's sudden change in height. "Since when are you tall?"

"It's a nightmare," Qui-Gon told him. "I don't recommend it."

Ben seemed to be swallowing a smile. "I'll keep that in mind. I'm going to go get a trim. Quin had that gleam in his eye that said he's up to something."

"Usual spot," Qui-Gon confirmed. "Meet you there?"

"I'm sure to be fashionably late," replied Ben as he turned to leave.

"Ben?"

Ben paused, and an odd smile crossed his face. "It's been a year since I've heard that," he said softly.

"I'm glad you're home," said Qui-Gon.

"Me, too."

 

As promised, Ben was late; he called from the door as Quinlan mixed the second round of drinks. "Generally cocktails involve more than one kind of liquor, Quin," he said drily, "but it's nice to know nothing's changed since I've been away."

"But I have fancy umbrellas for Depa," protested Quinlan as he added a flimsi garnish to the acid red drink and passed it to the young Chalactan.

"Doesn't change the taste," groused Depa as she sipped her drink and made a delicate moue of disgust. "Why do we let you play bartender, anyway?"

"Because he's the one who's willing to get caught swiping alcohol," replied Ben as he flopped down onto a cushion next to Depa.

Qui-Gon gaped. Ben hadn't shaved; he sported a short, neatly-trimmed beard. He had pulled his long hair into a knot and secured it with his long Padawan braid. Instead of a boy, Qui-Gon saw the Knight Ben would become. The low light bathed him in gold and created glints of copper as Ben's face split into a smile just for him—

Quinlan's elbow jabbed him in the ribs. "Coruscant to Qui-Gon Jinn," he drawled.

Covering his completely baffling lapse in attention, Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Sorry, what?"

"Well, I guess that answers whether he likes facial hair," snickered Depa.

To Qui-Gon's horror, he could feel a blush rising over his cheeks. He grabbed his cup and drank to cover his embarrassment, and immediately regretted the tongue-curling sweetness followed by a harsh burn. "Force, Quin," he sputtered, "that's kriffing terrible."

"Everyone's a karking critic." Rolling his eyes, Quinlan took a sip of his own drink and promptly stuck out his tongue. "Okay, you may be onto something. Needs another umbrella."

"So, Obi-Wan, spill: how was the mission?" Depa queried with a little waggle of her eyebrows.

"Oh, you know, we did a lot of planet hopping and a few bouts of aggressive negotiations, too long in close quarters and not enough shower facilities." Ben's tone was airy, but there was a shadow in his eyes that made Qui-Gon wonder if his friend was telling the whole truth.

"And the Duchess?" wheedled Quinlan.

"Duchess Kryze is safely back on Mandalore," replied Ben. To others it would sound easy, but Qui-Gon heard the tension underlying the words. Something had happened with the Duchess, and Ben didn't want to discuss it. "Has Master Windu started teaching you _vapaad_ yet, Depa?"

As Depa launched into her well-practiced complaint that she was old enough to learn _vapaad_ but Master Windu was being stubbornly overcareful, Quinlan opened his mouth as if to pester Ben further, but closed it again when Qui-Gon reached under the low table and pinched the Kiffar's arm, hard.

 

It was nearing midnight when Depa called it quits, with Quinlan offering to escort her home with less than subtle intentions of stealing a kiss. The door closed behind them, leaving Qui-Gon and Ben alone in the tiny lounge. "My body's still on Mandalorian time," complained Ben. "It's the middle of the afternoon for me."

"I'm not tired either," Qui-Gon said, lying through his teeth but desperate to soak in every moment possible with his best friend before another mission separated them. "Wanna go swimming?"

"We're a little too drunk for that," laughed Ben. "But we could go sit next to the waterfall?"

They hurried through the corridors of the night-dark Temple, shushing each other and smothering their laughter all the way to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Only the clever projection of the Coruscanti moons lit the path. Even in the middle of the night, the Room wasn't silent; nocturnal birds called, low and raucous, and bats swooped overhead in search of their meal. The thrum of life, slightly more subdued than at midday, washed over Qui-Gon, but he basked in the bright, dancing spark that was Ben Kenobi. The last ache of loneliness drained from his heart.

"Over here!" Ben grabbed Qui-Gon's hand and tugged him off the path.

Qui-Gon's heart leapt into his throat at the unexpected contact—or was it just the alcohol?

Ben pulled him along until he suddenly dropped to the ground, splaying himself out and patting the thick grass next to him. "You can see all the moons from here," he said.

Of course he was going to lie down and watch the moons with Ben. Qui-Gon flopped into the grass and looked up to admire the two full moons and two waning crescents. Next to him, Ben sighed. "You know, one of the things I missed was having the correct number of moons overhead," he said softly.

"What was it that you didn't want Quin to know?"

Another sigh, this time resigned. "Satine—the Duchess—she asked me to stay."

"Stay for a mission?"

"Stay…with her," admitted Ben.

Qui-Gon swallowed the wave of jealousy that overcame him. Ben didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his ridiculous emotions. "And you told her that you were a Jedi and you have a duty?"

Ben was silent. Qui-Gon felt the heat radiating off Ben's body in contrast to the cool grass. Finally, Ben shifted; Qui-Gon turned his head to find his friend staring at him. His eyes shone in the moonlight. "I told her that I couldn't leave."

"Of course. You've made a commitment to the Order—"

"I told her there was someone I couldn't leave." Ben's gaze flicked down, then back into Qui-Gon's eyes.

"Oh. Well, you wouldn't want to abandon Master Sifo-Dyas—"

"You, you dumbass." Ben looked both nervous and like he wanted to smack Qui-Gon upside the head, and it was the most charming thing Qui-Gon Jinn had ever seen.

Before he could think better of it, Qui-Gon shifted in the grass and pressed his lips against Ben's. A very long second passed in which Qui-Gon wondered if he had made a terrible mistake, then Ben was kissing back. The short hairs of his beard tickled Qui-Gon's face. Ben tasted like Quinlan's horrible cocktail and neka nuts, and the combination was delightful. A tentative hand cupped Qui-Gon's jaw, brushing his skin and sending electric thrills racing down to his fingertips and belly. The entire universe condensed into this moment of warm skin and cool grass, of hesitant breathing and screeching ink-jays, of the curl of two souls in the Force.

Ben broke the kiss to feather his lips over Qui-Gon's cheeks and nose. "I missed you so much, Qui. I was gone so long I was afraid I would forget the sound of your laugh, or that voice you use when you talk to your plants, or the warmth of you. Little gods, you're so warm, it's like standing next to a binary star."

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers along Ben's jaw, delighting in the rasp. "I fully admit I slept in your bed on multiple occasions because it smelled like you," he whispered, and Ben smiled against Qui-Gon's lips before stealing a kiss.

When they came up for air, Qui-Gon pressed his forehead against Ben's. "I think I love you," he said, and Ben stilled.

Panic welled in him; had he spoken too soon, wrecked this all before it started—

"You _think_?" Ben pulled away to fix an offended glare on Qui-Gon.

"Well, I—"

A slow, sly smile travelled over Ben's features. "I think getting tall has made you a little dumb," he teased, pressing a fleeting kiss to the tip of Qui-Gon's nose. "I _know_ I love you, Qui-Gon. I've loved you forever."

The spark in the Force blazed. Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around the other half of his heart and held him close, and Ben whispered the last secrets they had never shared until Qui-Gon couldn't keep his eyes open.

 

Qui-Gon had just enough warning in the Force to shield Ben with his body before half a dozen four year-olds from Clawmouse Clan, screeching in delight to find their friend Padawan Qui-Gon sleeping in the grass, helpfully woke them with bodily force.

 

****

 

"Oh, kark, Qui—"

"I know it's kriffing broken!"

Lightsabers drawn, Qui-Gon and Ben moved warily down the tight alley as the sounds of the rioters ebbed. Ben's shoulder brushed against Qui-Gon's arm. Blood poured from Qui-Gon's nostrils, and he fought the urge to gag on the sharp metallic taste coating his tongue. He spat onto the ground in disgust.

"'One last mission,'" Ben said, dripping sarcasm as he lowered his voice in imitation of Dooku. "'Let the Padawans handle it since they insist they're ready for the trials.'"

"I don't recall Dyas putting up much of a protest," snapped Qui-Gon.

"They're going to murder us."

"I'm hoping your Master talks my Master out of apprenticide," retorted Qui-Gon, wiping his sleeve against his lips to no avail. His nose throbbed.

"I wouldn't count on it. We karked up, Qui, and I'm not entirely certain _how_."

"They were looking for a fight. We were just the catalyst; we gave them something to focus their hatred on." To his own ears, his voice sounded thick. "We could wait until dark, make our way back to the ship?"

"I'm not running away," retorted Ben.

"Did I suggest running away?" When Ben didn't answer, Qui-Gon spat again on the roughly paved alleyway. He was bleeding like a stuck rancor. "The ship has medical supplies, and we could negotiate our safe return to the palace. Then we finish up the détente and get the kriff off this bloody planet."

"We'd have a better vantage point from the roof," Ben said by way of agreement to the plan. He thumbed off his 'saber, and Qui-Gon followed suit.

The Padawans leapt to the top of the building with help from the Force, with Qui-Gon stumbling at the top as his head spun. Ben grabbed the bloodied front of his tunics and hauled him away from the edge of the roof. "Okay, love?" he asked.

Three years and it was still a thrill to hear that from Ben's lips. Qui-Gon offered him a smile, which stung as dried blood pulled at his skin. "A little dizzy."

"Concussion?"

"Mild, possibly."

Ben adjusted the ruined fold of Qui-Gon's tunic and pressed his hand over Qui-Gon's heart. "I'll get you out of this. Come on."

The city was a disaster. From their rooftop position, the spread of fighting in the streets became wider than it had on the ground. Smoke rose from several points around the palace security perimeter. The Force jangled with fear and anger. Qui-Gon tracked the route to their ship waiting in the spaceport on the outskirts of the city while he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his nose with the edge of his cloak sleeve. Even the barest brush against his nose felt like another punch; he fought back a wince.

"Waiting until nightfall is a good option," murmured Ben as he surveyed the streets with narrowed eyes.

"Who knows what will happen—" A cry, the high-pitched, urgent shriek of a youngling in pain cut through the dry wind and smoke. Qui-Gon sprang to his feet, listening with his ears and with the Force, and jumped off the side of the roof before Ben could protest.

He landed harder than he should have. The impact jarred him from his toes to his teeth, and fresh blood seeped over his lips, but he ran with the Force. Ben was behind him, silently broadcasting those excellent Huttese curses. The Force beckoned, showing him the way. The dull roar of the riot sharpened, and he picked out individual voices screaming in rage, then ignored them. The other cry vanished, cut off by fear or something else, and Qui-Gon redoubled his efforts for more speed.

The Force brought him to a street shining with shards of broken glass. He skidded to a halt in front of a storefront and carefully picked his way over the jagged edge of the casement with his long legs. Half-hidden behind a bookcase, a child sniffled and whined with pain. "I'm here to help," Qui-Gon said, keeping his voice soft and even. "I'll get you to a healer."

The child winced at the sound of his voice and curled away. Qui-Gon telegraphed his movements as he knelt down beside the boy, who looked no more than five. "I know you're hurting. Will you let me help you?"

Round, dark eyes full of tears met him. "Who are you?" asked the boy in a tiny voice.

Qui-Gon smiled at him. "My name is Qui-Gon. I'm a Jedi. Don't mind my face. Someone punched me and broke my nose, but it looks scarier than it is."

"Who would punch a Jedi?" asked the boy, bewildered. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Qui-Gon roved his gaze over the boy; a shard of glass had impaled his thigh.

"You'd be surprised how often it happens," replied Qui-Gon. "What's your name?"

"Martzel."

"Nice to meet you, Martzel. Can I hold your hand for a minute?" Nodding, the boy offered his hand. Cold and a little clammy; shock was setting in. Qui-Gon squeezed the little fingers in reassurance as he sent out a thread of healing energy. "Would you like to wear my Jedi cloak for a little while?"

Martzel nodded solemnly. Qui-Gon shrugged out of his cloak and carefully tucked it around the boy. "Did you know that cloaks are part of what makes a Jedi brave? It's true. If you wear a Jedi cloak, you can face all sorts of things you didn't think you could." On the street in front of the shop, Qui-Gon heard the _snap-hiss_ of a 'saber activating. The bright spark that was Ben was coiled, waiting. Beyond him, the maelstrom that was the rioters steadily approached.

"Now, here's what we're gonna do. I can't take out that glass—" Martzel whimpered in panic, but Qui-Gon brushed his hand over the boy's curls. "I know it hurts, I do, but we have to let the healer take it out. I'm going to pick you up and carry you there, okay?"

"Okay," replied the boy faintly.

"One more thing: I have a very special job for you. Can you hold this for me?" From his belt pouch, Qui-Gon retrieved his rebreather. At the sight of the odd piece of technology, Martzel plucked it carefully from Qui-Gon's fingers and huddled over it with interest. "That lets me breathe underwater, but I need you to make sure it doesn't get broken. We're going to run very, very fast."

Eyes wide beneath the giant hood of Qui-Gon's cloak, Martzel nodded. He whimpered sharply as Qui-Gon cradled him in his arms and stood.

"Qui, we've got company," yelled Ben over his shoulder.

The throng of people carrying homemade weapons turned the corner and paused as they recognized the blue glow of Ben's lightsaber.

Then someone threw a rock, which Ben pushed away with a wave of the Force without breaking his defensive stance. "Run," he said, pitched for Qui-Gon's ears.

Qui-Gon's hand twitched; he could reach his 'saber, defend his love—

 _Duty of care first_. Master Rynal's words washed over him, admonishing and urgent. He tightened his grip of Martzel. "The Force is with you," he whispered back.

"Now."

Qui-Gon broke into a sprint, his long legs eating pavement, as a cacophony of shouts swelled behind him. The hum of a lightsaber echoed in his ears as he sank into the Force and sped towards the nearest medical facility.

 

****

 

"Your skills as a diplomat will be the pride of the Order, my Padawan," Dooku said with a rare smile, clapping Qui-Gon on the shoulder. "Your conduct on Ord Zeuol, under fire no less, was exemplary."

Next to Dooku, Master Sifo-Dyas coughed politely into his hand. Dooku narrowed his eyes in the way that meant he was suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Padawan Kenobi, your lightsaber skills did you great credit on that mission."

Ben bowed a perfect Padawan's bow; his long, beaded braid swayed against his chest. "Thank you, Master Dooku."

"And now you've both passed your Trials!" said Master Sifo-Dyas jovially. With a sly smile, he added, "I don't know about you, Yan, but I'm looking forward to having a touch of freedom for the first time in a decade."

"Oh, gods, yes. Glad to see the back of you, Qui-Gon. At least I don’t also have to move you out of my quarters."

"Teasing, Master? On this auspicious and solemn day?" Qui-Gon retorted, hand over his breast in fake reproach.

"Who said I was teasing?" replied Dooku, deadpan.

The Council secretary poked her head around the corner. "They're ready for you, Masters."

As the elder Jedi stepped forward, Ben grabbed Qui-Gon's sleeve. "May I have a moment, Masters?"

"One, Obi-Wan," said Sifo-Dyas warningly.

"Yes, Master," Ben said to his Master's back. When they had the antechamber to themselves, Ben turned to Qui-Gon—not with the dazzling smile Qui-Gon expected, but with a concerned furrow between his brows.

"What is it?" rumbled Qui-Gon, ducking his head closer.

"I have something for you." There was an odd hesitation in Ben's voice that clenched Qui-Gon's heart.

"Ben—"

The copper haired man reached into the pocket of his cloak and offered his cupped hands to Qui-Gon with solemn reverence. Nestled in the palms of his hands was a heart cut from rainbow flimsi. "The day before she passed into the Force, Master Rynal asked me to keep this for you until the right moment."

Breath left his lungs as Qui-Gon gently picked up the heart between his thumb and forefinger. The edges were slightly fuzzy the way flimsi became over time, but the pigment of the paper was bright and cheerful. On a whim, he lifted it to his now-crooked nose; he caught the faintest hint of grass and Lasat musk and tears welled in his eyes, unbidden. "What was the right moment?" he croaked.

"The moment when you answer what you feel or what the Force tells you, not what you think others want to hear," replied Ben carefully, as if remembering sacred words.

Qui-Gon muffled his sob with one hand, unable to tear his gaze from the sanguine heart in his hand. Ben reached up, twining his hand around Qui-Gon's neck to brush the Padawan's tail, and kissed away the tear that rolled down Qui-Gon's cheek. "The Force tells me that now is that moment, my love, but only you know what to do with it."

Nodding, Qui-Gon inhaled shakily. Ben used the hem of his sleeve to wipe Qui-Gon's face, then adjusted the long Padawan braid so it lay flat against Qui-Gon's chest. With the utmost care, Qui-Gon placed the flimsi heart in his belt pouch and smoothed a hand down the front of his formal tunics. He took a deep, centering breath, and with Ben at his side, strode into the High Council chamber.

As with everything Dooku ever did, the actual ceremony was formal and a bit cold. Qui-Gon offered his braid to his Master, as was traditional, and Dooku took it as his due with a bow as befitting a Master to a Knight. "With the blessing of the Force, I present Knight Qui-Gon Jinn to the Jedi Order," intoned Dooku.

Yoda hummed thoughtfully, his ears perked forward. "As the Force wills it, accept Knight Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Order does," replied the diminutive Master. A gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes appeared. "And to what does the Force call you, Knight Jinn? Given your talents, happy to have you, the diplomatic corps will be."

Next to him, Dooku puffed his chest out.

The flimsi should have weighed him down, pressed feelings of betrayed responsibilities and broken hopes into his soul, but a small smile came to Qui-Gon's lips. The shining beacon of love that was Ben Kenobi drifted along the edges of his awareness.

Qui-Gon Jinn bowed to Master Yoda, a Knight's bow. "I will walk directly downstairs and into the crèche where I belong, Master."

He heard Dooku’s sharp exhale, grumpy and disappointed, but without having to look over, he knew Ben was failing to hide a wide, proud smile.

His heart would stay soft, and his heart would stay loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Epic thanks to Jessebee and Sanerontheinside for their impeccable beta work!
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please drop me a line (even if it's just keyboard smashing). Feedback fuels more fic!


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